


I Know Most Definitely

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: Breakout Kings
Genre: Black Male Character, Canon Character of Color, Character of Color, Dom/sub, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Male Character of Color, Rare Fandoms, Rare Pairing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray knows what he wants and what he likes, and what's dangling on Charlie's finger ain't it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know Most Definitely

**Author's Note:**

> Contains very mild spoilers for episode 1.5, so Charlie can get some cheap lols.

Ray opens the door and immediately shoots a glare at Charlie, sitting smug in the driver's seat, elbow propped on the passenger seat.

"Takin' lessons from Erica again," Ray says. It's not a question as he uses his soda can to nudge the pink lace thong into the cup holder between the seats.

Charlie drops his arm and scoops 'em up, lets 'em dangle on the end of his finger, and practically waves 'em like a flag. "She had a couple of good points." Charlie quirks a grin. "Mistress Erica. Kinda has a ring to it, don't you think?"

"Yeah, right." Ray drops into the seat and pointedly stares out the window.

"Seat belt, Ray." The panties fall into his lap.

Ray snatches 'em up and balls them into a fist, jamming down on the window button so he can toss 'em out. "Really, Charlie? That's the game you wanna play right now?"

"You throw those out, that's littering," Charlie says, but the way he says it, neutral, even-toned, makes Ray pause and glance back. Charlie's staring straight ahead, hands settled on the steering wheel in perfect ten and two position.

"Gonna arrest me?" Ray asks.

Charlie looks at him, then, and it's like a freakin' gut punch, steals all the air out of his lungs when Charlie follows that look with actual words. "Don't push me, Ray."

And Ray sorta wants to push, wants to shove a little at the boundaries, see how far — how _hard_ — Charlie'll push back. _This_ is what he likes.

Charlie holds out his hand. "Put on your seat belt."

Tension broken. Just that easy. But Ray still has to pull in a breath, and he drops the panties into Charlie's open palm, hand barely shaking. He jerks too hard on the seat belt and it snags, resists the pull like it's designed to do, but that doesn't make Ray any less frustrated at the freaking thing, especially with Charlie staring at him, waiting for him to comply. Ray huffs an annoyed breath and lets the seat belt go. He keeps his mouth shut and pulls again, more slowly this time, aware of Charlie staring, the weight of Charlie's gaze as heavy as if he were actually touching Ray. What ruins it is the stupid pink panties in Charlie's hand. Where the hell did he get 'em anyway?

"Those aren't Marisol's, are they?" Ray has to ask.

Charlie laughs, shakes his head, and starts the car, letting the panties dangle from the gearshift. "Dollar store." He glances Ray's way, the left half of his mouth curled into a grin that Ray frowns at. "Why? Trying to get yourself a pair?"

"Ha-freakin'-ha," Ray mutters. "I'm not interested in women's underwear."

"How about saying thank you?" Charlie's eyes are dark when they slide back to Ray, and it's the way Charlie's fingers flex on the steering wheel in Ray's peripheral that makes his pulse thud, makes him shift in his seat as pleasure sinks to his gut and starts twisting him up again. "Later?"

Ray looks out the window, forces himself to lean back. "I dunno. I might be busy."

Christ, he doesn't expect Charlie to touch him while they're still in the parking lot. Charlie's knuckle is a soft weight beneath Ray's chin, and Ray can't do anything but be turned and face Charlie like Charlie wants.

"Look at me when you say no."

"Not sayin' no." Ray feels fidgety but doesn't move, doesn't look away from Charlie, even though he wants to get a scope of who might be watching right now. "I'm just sayin' maybe."

"Maybe."

"Yeah."

Ray's about to quickly change his answer to _yes, okay, Charlie, yes_ when Charlie drags his knuckle down Ray's throat, over his Adam's apple, slots it into the hollow above Ray's collarbone. It's stuffy in the car all of a sudden, even with the window rolled down.

"Okay, Ray."

And just like that, Charlie's settled back in his seat and driving, and Ray's head is freakin' buzzing and alive, and he's about to shove his head out the window for some air. Charlie does this to him, does this on purpose, and Ray uselessly clenches his fingers in his lap, crushing his soda can, because he forgot he was holding the stupid thing.

"You better not throw that out the window," Charlie says as he pulls out onto the street, and Ray snorts.

"Yeah, I know. Littering." He loosens his grip on the can, takes a slow, steady breath and stares out the window, trying not to think about Charlie's hands putting him down, keeping him in place, just keeping him. "It's bad for your tree-huggin' heart."


End file.
